Never Again
by Karista N
Summary: A visit to Liberty City turns into the assignment from hell for one poor young magazine journalist. Watch as his aspiring career goes from promising to prison in a crazed tale of sex, violence, and general mayhem.
1. Enter: The Brodie

Author Notes: I have to give credit to BlueKnux for this. He made me do it...and although I don't regret it, I'm sure I could've done better.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own GTA3, I wish I did...then I'd be filthy rich and be able to live out my dreams of smashing cars and beating up hookers in real life, rather than on my TV.  
  
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The following is a magazine article, taken from some...travel magazine...yeah. Just read the damn thing.  
  
  
Liberty City: Hell On Earth, or An Insurance Policy's Worst Nightmare?  
by Brodie Ford  
  
I originally planned this article to be included in the "Little known cities that will be big in 2003" feature, however, now that I have traveled to Liberty City, I include it in the "Top 10 cities not to send your only daughter to college in"  
  
I arrived in Liberty City at the ungodly hour of 2AM. The train slowly shuddered away from the station to leave me alone on the platform, facing an empty abyss of nothing. Abandoned newspapers fluttered across the pavement, providing the only movement on that rather windy night. It was strange that such a large city was so quiet; even in the middle of the night I had expected some activity from the local denizens. The first mission on my agenda was to find suitable lodging for the night, a task I didn't dread too much as finding a hotel in a large city had always proven to be quite easy. My first mistake was to wander in the wrong direction. As I walked along the chilled streets, the neon lights got brighter and the city seemed to come to life, although not the type of life I was hoping on meeting at 2AM. The hotels all seemed to have some sort of connection with the word "love" and strangely charged by the hour, a practice I had never seen before.  
  
While checking room rates in these hotels, I bumped into countless women, all wondering if I was looking for "a good time". I politely declined, mentioning that I was only looking for a clean bed and some rest. As I escaped their scantily clad grasps, I noticed that the dress code in this city was stuck strangely in the 70's with most of the men sporting platform shoes, afros, large neck chains, and flashy-colored jackets. When I finally made my way out of that part of town and onto the main roads, I called for a taxi and requested to be taken to a respectable hotel. The driver gave me an odd glance, shrugged, and hit the gas. It was when we reached 80MPH that I realized that the picture ID on the back of the seat did not match up with the driver's face. I casually tapped him on the shoulder and quickly had a 9MM automatic pointed in my face. "Sit back and shut up." he grunted as his quick maneuvering of the cab bought us precious seconds from the police now accumulated at our rear. I sunk back in my seat, not sure whether I was more afraid of the gun or his reckless driving.  
  
I came to in the Liberty City hospital with a concussion and a few scrapes and bruises. The nurse mentioned that I was involved in a high-speed chase, but the cops figured I was innocent and allowed me to be released. Thankful for the competence of the local authorities, I asked about my possessions that were with me in the back seat, only to be informed that they were kept for evidence. Another blow, but I wasn't about to let this get in the way of my first real article. As I dressed in my now tattered clothing, I at least had my wallet to buy new clothing with, and headed out for a local department store. On my way out, I saw a doctor sporting a pair of shoes, which looked strangely like a similar pair I had with me, but I shrugged it off.  
  
Daylight in Liberty City at least was more pleasing to wander in, the nights are horrid. As I made my way downtown, I took in some of the local color. Cars of all kinds crowded the streets while residents of every race and creed shuffled along the sidewalks. Quite a colorful city, I remarked as I made my way into a nearby clothing store. After my purchases were made, I ventured back outside, only to be greeted with the sound of gunshots. Two of the local gangs (I learned later they were known as the Triads and the Diablos) had apparently had a run-in down the street and chose to settle it with guns. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, both gang member and pedestrian alike, and several black cars with red flame detailing were smashed into various piles and pieces. A stray bullet flew past me and I ducked for cover in a nearby alley.  
  
It was here that I had my first encounter with a real Liberty City citizen. A scraggly old man sat propped against some garbage cans with a label-less bottle between his legs. He looked up at me, let out a rattling cough, and held his dirt-encrusted hand up for a donation. I shook my head, never trusting what the homeless would do with the money had I given it to them, and attempted to leave. It was at this time that he pulled a baseball bat out from behind the garbage can and took hold of the end of my overcoat. "Gimme dem packages purdy boy, 'less you be seein' stars" he growled, waving the bat around in a menacing way. I gulped and handed over my bags, taking his pause to inspect the contents as a means of escape. Lucky for me, the mayhem between the gangs had quieted down as the authorities had arrived and taken out what was left of the members. While some cities are said to have streets lined with gold, Liberty City has streets lined with blood. Turning my head from the carnage, I sought out an unoccupied officer to report my encounter in the alley. The only man not shoveling dead bodies into the ambulances was a hefty, grizzled officer who looked more interested in the holes in the donuts he was eating rather than ones in the victims. I approached him and tapped his shoulder gently, only to get a belch in the face. "Waddya want?" he grumbled, wiping powdered sugar from his chins. I told him of my plight with the local street ruffian, only to get a laugh. "30-some guys get killed out here and you're bitchin' about some panzy ass clothes? Fuck off, I've got bigger things to take care of."  
  
I turned and walked away. This was not a time to get angry. But...he insulted my taste in clothes! Those were the best Ralph Lauren slacks and dress shirts that you could get in this hellhole! I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, and turned around to face the officer again who had turned his back to me and buried his face in the donut box again. Suddenly, my hand lunged out, grabbed his nightstick, and turned him around. I found myself beating him mercilessly until he was reduced to a quivering pile of blubber on the ground. As the other officers heard his raspy cries for backup, I flashed them a manic glare and took off, looking for any means of escape. I saw a green station wagon, occupied only by an old woman; the perfect getaway car. I ran up to the drivers' door and opened it, grabbing her by the sweater and shoving her to the pavement. As I took possession of the vehicle, she stood, shot me the bird, and yelled a few expletives before a speeding blue Sentinel took her out.  
  
I traveled up the street and found myself driving along the docks when I realized what I had just done. Not only did I attack and possibly kill an officer of the law, but I carjacked an old woman and indirectly caused her death. My right fist unclenched and the bloody nightstick hit the floor with a sickening thud. I pulled over under a bridge and buried my face in my hands, sobbing quietly. What had begun as my first real magazine article had turned into a hellish nightmare. Suddenly, I heard a soft tapping at my window. A rather attractive young woman was standing outside smiling at me. I rolled the window down and she introduced herself as Misty. She asked me if I needed a little company, to which I reluctantly agreed to. She climbed in the passenger seat and immediately wrapped her legs about my waist. Before I could protest, she had my shirt off and had reclined the drivers' seat so she was lying on top of me. It was at this point that I realized she was actually a prostitute and the "company" she offered me was of the sexual kind, not the verbal as I had hoped. As gently as I could, I pushed her off, commenting that I didn't really mean to take her up on her proposition. She giggled and pushed me back, "First timer, right? All guys are nervous their first time...just let me do the work, baby." After several more attempts (and the removal of a few more pieces of clothing), I finally lost my temper with her. I launched her from the car and grabbed the nightstick, raising it above my head. Upon examination of her unconscious body, I found about two thousand dollars in cash and a nice semiautomatic handgun. This was apparently a very experienced hooker.  
  
Suddenly, headlights illuminated the underside of the bridge and two men in mafia attire stepped out. "Do you know who you just fucked with?" the taller one questioned. "Ey Geno, Joey's not gonna like dis...I tink she's dead." the short, fat one commented, hovering over Misty's body. I backed up against the wall and shuddered, both men were unquestionably armed and part of some organization that apparently had some ties with this woman. "Joey likes his girls ALIVE...he don't like them dead!" the one named Geno shouted at me, his breath reeking strangely of garlic and cheap wine. The short man laughed a nasal laugh and pulled an uzi from the back seat of their car. "I tink Luigi won't like this none, either...so I say we off him right here!" He came up close to me, shoving the tip of the barrel under my chin, "Youse got a lota nerve fuckin' wit one of Luigi's hoes without payin'...and to top it all, Joey's favorite!" Geno pulled the smaller man away, "No, we let the boss take care of dis one. He'll wanna see who did the job."  
  
I was bound and gagged, then shoved into the trunk of their car, which was thankfully very roomy, and bounced back to the headquarters. When I was removed, I found myself at a place called "Sex Club 7" which was about where this journey into the middle of hell had begun. As they shuffled me to the back door, I threw myself at Geno and slammed him into the railing of the stairs and sent him tumbling down. Before the shorter man could reach for his gun, I drew my knee up and connected with his crotch, eliciting a strained gasp from him before he too hit the ground. I jumped over the railing and took off, looking quite odd with a gag in my mouth and rope around my wrists. I tripped once or twice but got back up, intent on escaping to the train station and finding my way back to the publishing office to put in my resignation. As I reached the ticket office, there was a police barricade, ready and waiting. The officer I had assaulted earlier in the day was sitting in a wheelchair and pointed a shaking finger at me, "That's the guy! That maniac tried to kill me!" I froze, much like a deer in headlights, and was surrounded by what seemed to be the entire Liberty City police force. The ropes were replaced with handcuffs and thankfully, the gag was taken from my mouth. I was ushered into the back of a police cruiser and taken to the station. Luigi's men never found me.  
  
And so, that is where I write to you loyal readers from now, the Liberty City Police Station. Thankfully, the magazine has allowed me to put this in as my first and last piece. I stand trial for manslaughter, indirect manslaughter, attempted manslaughter, assault on an officer of the law, soliciting sex from a prostitute, two counts of assault, fleeing the scene of a crime, resisting arrest, and...Grand Theft Auto.  
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Yes, the dramatic ending. If I offended you in any way with this fanfic, good, my work here is done. Snooch to the Nooch. 


	2. Lazlow's Diary

Notes: I wasn't going to do this. It was a one-shot fic...I promised myself that when I wrote it. Now here I am, writing another chapter of this crap...and it's all BlueKnux's fault! DAMN YOUSE!  
  
Standard disclaimer: I don't own GTA3, I wish I did...then I'd be filthy rich and be able to live out my dreams of smashing cars and beating up hookers in real life, rather than on my TV.  
  
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Lazlow's Diary  
  
  
It was another one of those days. A day I should have stayed in bed. Fuck the listeners...if I would've put an intern on the show that day, they wouldn't have given a rats' ass. I'm just the middleman; I'm there to allow them to do their bitching to the general public. I'll preface this with the guest we had on last week, Reed Tucker. Man, that guy was a pansy. It took every ounce of self-control in my body to not shove one of his beloved carrots up his ass. I get some asshole guests sometimes, but this guy was just too much. After my time with Reed, things had been pretty bleak. We had the usual crap; mothers calling in and bitching about the school system, old ladies whining that the traffic lights are too long...all in all, a normal week.  
  
The day in question is now a Tuesday, and I thought Mondays were bad. I entered the office as normal and grabbed my cup of coffee from some pimple-faced intern who thought he was all-important now that he was upgraded from staple puller to Lazlow's coffee lackey. Poor bastards, they think they're gonna make it big in the radio business some day...I've yet to see one of the little pricks make it past the mailroom. Anyway, back to my story...we never know who's going to be on the show until a few minutes before airtime. Sometimes, we don't even get guests...we make them up. Yeah, you heard me...I've voiced so many of these "guests", if I had a dollar for every one that didn't exist, I wouldn't be doing a damn radio show anymore. So there I was, prepared to make up some bullshit guest who had some screwed up talent or hobby or something. Maybe it would be a man-ho with anal warts who has a monkey fetish...or a disgruntled ex-school bus driver with a porcelain doll collection. I love making up screwed up crap like that, it keeps me from going insane.  
  
Well, I walk into the news booth to find out that we did have a guest that day. Damn, guess my rectally challenged monkey lover would have to wait. When non-descript intern #2 handed me the daily papers, I just about dropped to the floor. A convict! We were having a real, live convict on the show that day! Whatever strings Donald Love pulled to get us this one must have been attached to his wallet, because Liberty City Police NEVER allow prisoners to do media stunts, let alone on public radio.  
  
So there I was, sitting in my cramped little booth at my cheap desk (which now had a slight indentation where that fuckup Reed tried to chop it in half), awaiting the arrival of this convict. I read through the papers again; this guy was originally from New York, sent here to Liberty City on a magazine assignment. What happened between then and his arrest, I would have to get straight from his mouth. As I watched him walk in, the first thing that popped into my head was "fish". This guy had to only weigh about 120 and looked scrawnier than Reed did, and that's pretty damn scrawny. He was dressed in the traditional convict-orange jumpsuit that was about 2 sizes too big for him and he had the look in his eyes. The look of a broken, yet crazy man…one that would probably fall to the floor crying in the fetal position if you flashed a cucumber in his face. He sat in the guest booth rather awkwardly, apparently not comfortable with being in a small space with his guard. I cleared my throat and began the show...this was going to be an interesting one...  
  
  
Transcript of ChatterBox 106 Segment 03-567A  
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[Lazlow] And you're listening to ChatterBox 106, the only show in Liberty City that lets you speak your mind...as long as it doesn't offend anyone or get the station sued. Today's guest is a real live convict from Liberty City Prison. Convict, do you have a name, or just a number *laughs*.  
[Brodie] My name is Brodie Ford...and it's not funny.  
[L] Sorry man, just trying to bring a little humor in here. So, Brodie, how'd you get put in jail anyway?  
[B] This hellhole of a city fucked up my brain, all right? Does anyone in here have a cigarette?  
[L] Nope, no smoking in the booth. Now, looking here, it says you were a writer for a high-class travel magazine. You sure don't act like it. Has Liberty City really affected your personality that much?  
[B] You don't know the half of it, Lazlow. When I came here 2 months ago, I was a normal man. I liked wearing Ralph Lauren clothing, reading V.C. Andrews novels, and taking walks on the beach.  
[L] If that's a normal, call me strange anytime! Continue...  
[B] *shoots him a dirty look* Anyway, I was on my first big assignment for this magazine...I had written big pieces before for other publications, but this was my first for this particular one. I was supposed to travel around Liberty City, pick out all the great stuff, and write an article about how it was going to develop into the next NYC or San Francisco by 2003.  
[L] Did it ever occur to you that 75% of what goes on in this city, also happens in both of those places?  
[B] Yeah, but not to this extent! Anyway, after loosing my way in your Red Light District...  
[L] *under breath* That was probably the only thing you lost there...  
[B] *dirty look* I made it to the main streets where I had the misfortune of getting into a cab being driven by a man on the run. After the 9MM was removed from my face, I woke up in the hospital with a concussion and all my belongings taken as "evidence".  
[L] And if you believe that bullcrap, I've got a bridge to sell you! Keep going...  
[B] So I went out to replace my lost clothing, but got mugged in the alley I ducked into while trying to escape a gang shooting...  
[L] And on that note, I must announce that the leader of the Diablos, El Burro, has challenged all members of rival gangs to a drag race tomorrow night at the abandoned horse track. Bring your shotguns and leave the kids at home, this one's going to get messy! Back to Brodie's story...  
[B] This would go by a lot faster if you'd quit interrupting me.  
[L] You really wanna go back to the prison? *points to guard standing by Brodie*  
[Guard] *winks at Brodie*  
[B] *gulps* Anyway...I went to a nearby cop to report my stolen stuff, and the pig just laughed in my face. Now, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's people making fun of my clothing. Just because I look like a well dressed, respectable member of society...  
[L]...who's seen Sleepless in Seattle too many times...  
[B] I wish you'd quit doing that, I'm not gay.  
[L] No one said you were *coughfudgepackercough*  
[B] Excuse you.  
[L] Thanks. *snicker*  
[B] Just because I dress better than most other people doesn't give them the liberty to make fun of my tastes. Well, this guy just pushed my limit that day I guess, so I grabbed his nightstick and beat him with it.  
[L] A COP? You beat a cop with his own nightstick???  
[B] Yeah, I told you this city fucked with my head. Once the other cops saw what happened, I ran. The closest means of escape was this pathetic little old lady in a station wagon. I carjacked her and took off. Unfortunately, the crazy bitch stood in the middle of the road to give me the finger and someone took her out. I tell you, those old birds still have some flight left in them, heh heh.  
[L] Crude prison humor at its best, right here on ChatterBox!  
[B] Driving took me to the docks, where I suddenly realized what I did and broke down. I parked under a bridge and cried.  
[L] It takes a big man to cry after assaulting and officer and killing an innocent old lady...  
[B] You know what? You're really starting to piss me off, Lazlow. Keep your smart-ass comments to yourself or else I'm gonna-  
[Guard] You're gonna what, pretty boy?  
[B] *gulps* Nothing...sir...  
[L] So, pretty boy *snicker*, continue?  
[B] *pissed look* So I'm sitting under the bridge, when this woman knocks on my door and asks if I want company. I was pretty disheveled at this time, so I accepted, not thinking that "company" had different meanings.  
[L] And Liberty City is home to one of the best of them! Just call Fernando's New Beginnings to have some "company" of your own! 555-  
[B] *coughs* CONTINUING WITH MY STORY...she started undressing me and wouldn't quit forcing herself on me until I shoved her out of the car. Damn, that nightstick got me into a lot of shit.  
[L] You beat up the hooker?  
[B] Yeah...she had some cash and a handgun on her, not a bad deal.  
[L] But come on man, a hooker? That's an honest profession, too, you know! You could've at least gotten some before killing her!  
[B] Eh, she wasn't my type.  
[L] Yeah, too much chest and not enough ass, huh?  
[B] That's it...fuck you Lazlow! Just...fuck you!  
[L] Nice comeback. Now I know you don't want to go back to the big scary prison where the hairy inmates will take advantage of your girlish features and wimpy body and make you wish they had never invented communal showers, now do you?  
[B] *grimaces* No...  
[L] That's right. Now sit down like a good little criminally insane man and finish your story.  
[B] I killed her and took the stuff...not thinking about what I was doing or why. She pissed me off, she was dead. Unfortunately, she was the favorite whore of some guy named Joey, and he had two of his thugs following her just to make sure she got to him unharmed. Well, these guys worked for her pimp, Luigi, too...so now I had two mafia assholes on me. They had me tied up and gagged in the back of their trunk and I got taken to Sex Club Seven.  
[L] Oh yeah, that place is real nice. This goes out to Trixi down there at the SCS...daddy's coming over tonight!  
[B] ...  
[L] What?  
[B] ...as they took me from the car, I used that moment to knock one of them down and escape, still tied up and shit. I ran off towards the train station where I had arrived, only to get busted by the same fat ass cop that I beat up earlier in the day.  
[L] And?  
[B] What the fuck do you think? I got taken in, sentenced, and now I'm probably gonna do life for all the fucked up things I had to go through in this godforsaken city!  
[L] Hey, we love Liberty City! Where else can you get a hooker for $300, beat her up once you're finished, and get back double your investment?  
[B] All you people in this city are fucked up! I wish I had never come here in the first place!  
[L] *sarcasm* Yeah, but then you wouldn't have gotten to do this lovely interview with me!  
[B] Fuck this interview...I'll take my chances in the showers!  
[Guard] Ready to go, pretty boy?  
[L] Have fun, sweetheart, you're done here!  
[B] FUCK YOU!!  
[L] Heh, well...that's it for now on ChatterBox. Stay tuned for the night show where we'll have Georgio the Man-ho!  
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End transcript  
  
  
It wasn't really the show that was fucked up, it was what happened after. I swear, if I ever see the look in his eyes again, I'll scream. He was being escorted (fondled maybe?) by the guard out of the booth when he just snapped. He came running at the divider window and started beating on it like an enraged gorilla. He was screaming something about not being gay and bananas. Meanwhile, I had grabbed my third cup of coffee and didn't pay much attention, until the crazy fuck broke the door down and came running in at me. Coffee and papers went everywhere...the little prick actually had some fight in him. Luckily, he was still weaker that that Reed hippie and I pinned him to the ground. Unfortunately, this must've activated the anti-rape mechanism in his brain and he went completely crazy. He threw me off and ran into my booth, diving under the desk and curling up into a quivering ball. It took the guards a good fifteen minutes to get him out of there and back into the police car outside. He'd hiss and snap at anyone who got close, so they had to bring out the animal tranquilizers.  
  
So, another poor bastard finds his way out of Liberty City. Unfortunately for Brodie, his ticket was in the back of the Shady Oaks Center For the Mentally Unstable van. I think he'll like the nice white jackets better than his old uniform, he didn't look like he liked the color an orange jumpsuit turned his skin.  
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Yeah, I'm messed up in the head. But everyone loves Lazlow! Snoogins. 


End file.
